


A Different Kind of Soul Mate

by bluegal19



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Fluff, Friendship, Gen, Hurt/Comfort, Other
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2014-12-10
Updated: 2015-08-18
Packaged: 2018-02-28 23:08:43
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 13,853
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2750528
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/bluegal19/pseuds/bluegal19
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A series of oneshots and drabbles that explore the relationship and friendship between a Female Elf Inquisitor and Dorian Pavus. Mentions of Dorian/Iron Bull, as well as F!Elf!Inquisitor/Solas and F!Elf!Inquisitor/Cullen.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. One More Good Man

It started out as many days did in Skyhold, with an entirely too cold wind making its way through the drafty halls, and the sounds of too many people and animals in one place ringing in the air. It was one of the reasons Dorian much preferred to while away his time in the library: there were less people milling about, and the sounds of the courtyard were muffled by the stones of the keep and the cawing of crows from the rookery. 

However, he knew that he couldn’t avoid the masses forever. Lavellan had come around to speak with him the day before, as she now did nearly every day they were both in Skyhold. During their customary game of chess, one that she lost rather spectacularly he remembered with a smirk, she brought up a new staff schematic that she had come across on one of her latest missions. As a rogue she had little experience with such things, but thought it looked different from others she had seen, and wanted an “expert opinion” as she had deemed it. It was a rather ingenious design, and different from others he had seen before, so he promised to help her in its creation the next day. 

As he made his way down the stairs and into the main hall, his eyes were drawn to the throne that stood on the dais at the end of the room. The sun was pouring through the window at such an angle that the blood red throne was bathed in its rays, and the sticking of the Inquisition mark stood out in stark relief. He saw others notice the image as well, and he could hear a resurgence of “I heard that the herald...”, and “did you hear of Her Worship’s latest...” in many a conversation. He couldn’t help but grimace at the talk. He didn’t believe Lavellan was sent by a divine power any more than she did, but that didn’t stop the fanatical minds of the people from twisting her into something she didn’t want or need to be. 

He strode through the groups of people towards the Undercroft, intent on getting to the quiet room as swiftly as possible, when a scream ripped through the air. All conversations ground to a staggering halt, and Dorian’s hand instinctively reached for his staff. It was missing from his back. He swore violently to himself; he had left it in his rooms again. Dorian lowered himself, and began to intently look around, searching for a sign of an assassin or intruder. Not even a few seconds had passed however, when another wail followed by a thud rang out. 

This time, he knew exactly where it had come from, and before anyone else could react, he ran full speed across the hall and threw open the door that led to the War Room.  
He ran down the hall and was just making his way past the fireplace in Josephine’s office when the huge wooden doors that led into the war room were violently thrown open. Lavellan herself stalked out in a fury, with Cullen and Leliana quick on her heels.

“What is...” is all he managed to get out before she forced herself by him without saying a word, and stormed out of the room, leaving the door to fall behind her. Dorian turned, brows furrowed to, to stare at the two advisors who had followed their leader out. 

“What in the blazes happened,” Dorian cried out. He had been with Lavellan and the Inquisition for some time now, and had seen her temper flare at a few unfortunate souls, but it was nothing like what he had just witnessed. He watched Leliana and Cullen share a look, and after a small nod from Cullen, Leliana began to speak.

“There was a complication,” she started in a low voice, “on one of the missions.”

There was the shuffle of feet behind them and Dorian saw Josephine slowly emerge from the room, her makeup running down her face as tears flooded from her eyes. 

“It was my fault,” she whispered softly. “She asked me to keep them safe, and now...” Her voice cut off with a sob, as she stood there weeping with her arms wrapped around herself. Knowing that not much more could be gotten from the distraught ambassador, Dorian again turned with eyes to the other two. 

“We received word that the Inquisitor’s clan was having issues with bandits as of late,” Leliana continued in the same low, saddened tone as before. “The Inquisitor asked Josephine to handle the issue by talking to the lord on whose lands they had been staying. However, the lord was unable to assist and her clan...” Leliana sighed heavily and looked back towards Josephine, whose tears were still flowing freely. “Her clan was killed, and any remaining survivors have fled to unknown locations.”

Dorian just stared at them in stunned silence. How could a mission so simple go so catastrophically wrong?

“Someone should go and check on her,” said Cullen, finally breaking his silence. “I know this is a major shock to her, but we cannot let the rest of the Inquisition see her like this. It could damage her reputation among the nobles.”

As Cullen and Leliana began to discuss damage control, with phrases like “finally got their support” and “cultivation of her image” being thrown around, Dorian shot them both looks of disgust. The Commander was a good general, but his people skills must have decayed during his time as a templar. As for Leliana, there were times when she needed to remember that the people she played with as a spymaster were indeed still people, not simply pawns in her larger game of Inquisition domination. 

“If you three don’t mind, I am going to check on our esteemed leader, considering that two of you only seem to care about appearances, and the other can’t seem to stop crying long enough to get out a sentence.” Three heads snapped up at his outburst, and Cullen and Josephine had the grace to look ashamed, while Leliana’s eyes hardened in anger towards the mage. 

Dorian shook his head once more, then turned on his heel and set a quick pace towards the Inquisitor’s private quarters. After climbing a truly ridiculous amount of stairs, he knocked loudly on her door.

“Get out;” Lavellan cried out, “I just want to be left alone, Leliana.”

“I’m sorry dearest, but I am afraid you’ll have to suffer my company, and not our esteemed spymaster,” Dorian replied, attempting to make his voice as lighthearted as possible. There was a brief pause during which he heard nothing. He was hoping to hear the lock click, but had no such luck. 

“Please Dorian, just leave me be,” she called back in a much quieter tone, her voice cracking with emotion at the end of her plea. That crack stirred something within him, a feeling he had not felt for a rather long while. 

“My darling Inquisitor, I am afraid I can do no such thing. I can however, conjure a small flame in which to light your door on fire if you should choose not to let me in. Of course, I am not quite as talented with water based magic, so who knows if I could put it out...” He let his voice trail off, and listened carefully for the sound of footsteps. Sure enough, he heard her soft tread coming closer, and the door flung open. 

She looked a mess. Her short hair was in shambles, sticking up every which way, her face was stained with tear tracks, and her eyes were pink from her sobs. The one thing that rather alarmed him, however, was the already strong smell of liquor hanging like a curtain about her person. Despite all this, she quirked a small smile at the mage in her doorway.

“As if you’d ever admit you were less than perfect at anything.”

Dorian raised his eyebrow and cocked a half-smile, “Well, I must be possessed then. Quick, grab your blades, before my true form bursts forth and kills us all.”

Lavellan just shook her head at her friends antics, but the smile soon fell from her face, and as it did, she turned around and beckoned him to follow her up the stairs. When they got to the top, she walked to the table where a tumbler filled with a rather alarming amount of whisky sat, then flung herself onto the ridiculously ornate bed that Vivienne had insisted they buy last time they were in Val Royeaux. She just lie there, eyes slightly unfocused and face set in an angry frown, ignoring the man in the middle of her room and nursing her drink. 

Dorian paused for a moment, looking at the broken woman before him, before joining her on the bed, sinking farther into the mattress than she did. 

“Your skin will never recover if you don’t stop making those faces soon,” he said, searching her face intently. “You’ll get lines by your mouth. And crow’s feet. The next thing you know, you look thirty-five instead of twenty-five. Is that what you really want?”

The change was immediate. The eyes that had been unfocused just moments before snapped to lock onto his, and her frown went feral as she leaned forward. 

“You have no idea what I want! No fucking clue!” she snarled out, sloshing her drink. “Don’t pretend like you know anything!”

Dorian just continued to stare at her, holding her gaze, and as quickly as it came, the rage dissipated and she collapsed with a slump as sorrow crept back into her body. She curled in into herself, and brought the glass once again to her lips. He reached over grabbed the glass from her hand, and as she protested, he set it down out of her reach on the floor. 

“Lavellan, you cannot keep doing this to yourself,” he said, his tone rather firm. “Drinking yourself into a stupor can be extremely therapeutic-Maker knows I’m no stranger to the concept-but not if you keep every problem repressed. At some point it’s going to have to come out, and if you keep it locked down, that moment may not come at the best of times. It hasn’t for me.”

She slowly looked up at him, large green eyes full of sorrow and tears, and the next thing he knew, Dorian had his arms full of elf. Her arms were wrapped around his neck and her head was buried in the crook of his shoulder, and she was sobbing. Not the kind he remembered growing up with in Tevinter, where the ladies would gracefully let a single tear or two fall in a false show mourning. This was gut wrenching, full bodied sobbing that wracked her small frame. When and if (who knows with those shallow harpies back home) they did ever mourn, it certainly wasn’t around him. 

He knew that he wasn’t the best one to be with her in such a situation. He had so little experience in matters such as this, but this was Lavellan, and he knew that she was more important than his skewed Tevinter sense of propriety. So he wrapped his arms around her carefully and slowly rubbed her back, whispering calming nothings into her ears until her sobbing ceased. 

Lavellan sat back onto the bed, wiping the remaining tears from her eyes. She stared down at the bedcovers, sniffling away. Dorian was about to say something, when she started to talk. 

“I thought that Josephine would be able to help. I was worried for them when I got word about the bandits, but she said that she knew the lord of that patch of land, and he would be able to help. I just wanted them to be okay...” she trailed off, and looked out the window and out towards the mountains, bottom lip shaking in an effort to not cry again. “I never wanted to leave, but they needed some of the best hunters to go and spy on the meeting at the conclave. Our clan was constantly running into both rogue templars and mages, and we were constantly on the move, trying to avoid the chaos. I was one of the best rogues we had, so I was sent off.” She looked back down at her hands and sighed, “The temple blew up, and now here I am, stuck with a mark on my hand, terrifying powers that I cannot begin to understand, and in all honesty, I have no idea what I am doing.”

Tears starting falling again down the tip of her nose, when Dorian reached out to pull her small, calloused hand into his. 

“You are doing the best that you can, and honestly, it is more than I think anyone else could have done,” Dorian said softly. 

“Do you honestly think this can all work out?” she asked, turning her head towards him once more, her giant eyes searching into his. 

Dorian sighed. “Honestly, I don’t know. The odds are stacked against us and the sheer amount of magical power we are against...” He shook his head at his own melancholy. He shot her a smile, and the cheek returned to his voice, “...but I do know that if I were a betting man, and I am a betting man, that if anyone would be able to get us through this mess it would be you”

The smile he had grown accustomed to after months together grew on her face. 

“Thank you Dorian” she said, squeezing his hand tightly while staring off into the distance.

“Now my dear,” he said, standing up and offering an arm to her. “It is my opinion that we should get out of this room, go find your favorite dwarf, and drink ourselves into a happy stupor over another game of Wicked Grace.”

“I thought you said that I wasn’t supposed to drink anymore,” she said, still sitting on the bed. 

“No, I said you weren’t allowed to drink until you talked about it. Now you have talked about it, so the drinking can resume in earnest.”

She looked up once more, her face lit up by a smile that finally reached her eyes. 

“Well, there is no way I can fault that logic,” she replied cheekily. She stood to take the proffered arm. “Lead the way, good ser mage. On towards to company of friends, the bottle, and questionable decisions.”

And so they went, Dorian lending her support as they stumbled down the stairs and out the door together.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So, I decided to write this story because when playing through the game, I really fell in love with Dorian and his relationship with my Female Inquisitor, and I wished it had been explored a little more. My inspiration for this chapter was when I realized that I somehow killed my clan, (still not sure how), and I wanted to examine how she would have reacted to such news, and how Dorian could have been there for her. This is the first fanfic I have written in a long time, so please let me know what you thought!


	2. Decisions and Dances

Orlais, Lavellan decided, was an exhausting place. A pretty one to be sure, but it was filled to the brim with ridiculous power plays by nobles who couldn’t relate to anything that existed outside their ornate, close-minded bubble. Nope, Halamshiral was not a place she wanted to revisit anytime soon. 

As she leaned against the railing outside the ballroom, all she wanted to do was take off her ridiculous dress and lie down on the bench beside her to sleep. It had been one of the more trying evenings as the Herald, or Inquisitor, or whatever idiotic name she was being called nowadays. 

She had felt like an outsider from the moment she was agreed to be a part of the Inquisition in one way or another. With those she worked with on a regular basis, like Varric and Cassandra, the feeling eventually faded as camaraderie and friendship took hold, but there were always others around who stirred up her feelings of being an interloper. Whether it was due to the terrifying mark on her hand, or to her elven heritage and Dalish markings, people had a tendency to stare, while pretending to do otherwise.

She was used to these stares, but ever since she was declared Inquisitor at Skyhold, the snide remarks about her heritage were generally kept out of her range of hearing. She had grown accustomed to silence on that particular matter, so hearing it so loudly discussed and criticized at the palace that night had been... unsettling to say the least. There had been a few times when Dorian and Vivienne had to physically restrain her from jumping on the back of yet another Orlesian racist for making some quip about “elven savages” and questioning why she was let in the palace in the first place. The horrific manner in which the elves were treated rattled her, and the image of the elven servants splayed across the kitchen floors, kept creeping back into her mind. It was so easy to forget how badly elves as a whole were treated. Her clan had never interacted much with humans, and now she was in a position where she wielded enough power that most overlooked her race. 

She sighed as she looked out over the terrace, watching the guests milling about the courtyard under the stars. She wished she could call it a night, but Leliana said that they were required to stay for at least another two hours. They had, after all, saved the Empress’ life, and as a thank you, she insisted that they stay as guests of honor for the remainder of the evening. 

The Queen and her newfound grip on the throne of Orlais was already weighing on Lavellen as well. Had she made the right decision? What if Celene didn’t have a strong enough hold on the chevaliers to mobilize them into a force? Would Gaspard have been a better choice? He did have the military expertise, but his grasp of The Game was weak. Though Lavellen personally found the whole “Game” to be absurd, it seemed to be a crucial aspect of Orlesiain politics, and his lack of understanding could have caused a breakdown amongst the nobility. Then there was Briala. Lavellan wanted to put her on the throne so badly. Her policies and ambition could have improved the lives of so many elves, but if she was honest with herself, she knew that Orlais wasn’t ready for such radical changes. The nobility would have revolted in protest of both Briala’s policies and the woman herself, and then the Inquisitions mission of bringing peace to Orlais would have been for naught. Still, it was so hard to watch that opportunity fall to the wayside. 

“I was stopped by no less than three young men, and five ancient ones, all looking for a certain Inquisitor to either dance with or propose marriage to. Quite possibly a combination of the two,” came a voice from behind her. 

Crossing the threshold onto the balcony came Dorian, the gold on his uniform gleamed even in the twilight. He stepped up to the balcony to stand next to her, mimicking her position. 

“I told them all that you left for the evening, but I do not think they believed me. You may thank me now, or later if you prefer, for keeping your hiding spot a secret, but I do believe I shall demand payment.” He glanced over at the slump in her shoulders and the far-off look in her eyes.

“You seem to be thinking much too hard for a woman dressed the way you are,” he said, gently ribbing her mood. “So why don’t you tell me what’s wrong?”

“It’s just been... a very long night,” she replied heavily. 

“But you won!” he cried incredulously. “You quite literally saved the day. You should be celebrating!” He stood straight and gestured grandly at their opulent surroundings. She just stared back at him, though her eyebrow that was raised at his actions did not quite mask the tiredness in her eyes. 

“I know just what you need- a distraction. Come, I have an idea.” With that, he offered his arm out to the elf. 

She took it rather reluctantly, “What exactly is your idea of a distraction?” she asked him. She loved her friend, but his idea of a good time had a tendency to...differ rather radically from hers. 

“We, my dear,” he said sweeping her back inside, and toward the staircase down to the ballroom floor, “are going to dance.”

Lavellan’s eyes went even wider than usual, as she tried to pull her arm out from his. He however, had thought she may pull something like this, and had her forearm in a vicegrip.  
“You know I have no idea how to dance like this!” she hissed in a low voice, trying to stall him in a way that didn't draw attention to them. It wasn't working overly well. Squirming violently and stomping one’s feet were not something often seen at the Orlesian court, especially by a young women being led to dance. 

“Nonsense!” Dorian proclaimed, in a tone that drew even more attention to the pair. “You can vault over a demon’s head, and kill a man before he even knows you were behind him! This is nothing.”

As he continued to pull her into the center of the room, she started to panic. Put her against a group of bandits or abominations, and she was fine, but she was starting to sweat under the stares so many people. 

“That is completely different, and you know it Dorian. I grew up Dalish, remember? Funny markings on my face? I didn’t learn any fucking shem dances!” she whispered, a tinge of hysteria creeping into her voice. 

He raised her hand onto his shoulder as he settled his on her waist. He could see her eyes frantically darting around the room, and the beads of sweat that had gathered on her forehead. He shot her a cocky smile and leaned in.

“Just trust me,” he whispered into her ear. With a glare and a rather determined nod of her head, she straightened up, and the musicians started to play.

As they started to move, Lavellan felt herself begin to stumble over her own feet. Dorian wasn’t wrong when he said that she was graceful on a battlefield, but set her to a piece of music, and any grace just seemed to disappear. 

But Dorian seemed to know exactly what he was doing. With a slight push back on her hand and hips, and then a small pull forward, he managed to guide her in long sweeping circles along the marble floor of the ballroom. 

She never stumbled once. 

About halfway through the piece, when she finally realized that the likelihood of her falling onto her face and embarrassing herself had passed, Lavellan began to smile. She grinned up at her partner, who gave a rather salacious wink back, as they continued to turn. 

She looked around the room she was in; beautiful couples in extravagant outfits, a sparkling chandelier, ornate carvings and statues inlaid with gold and silver. She realized, in both horror and glee, that she must have looked exactly like a character from one of those shem stories: a poor girl who ends up in a palace with a beautiful dress, dancing with a handsome man. She gave a small snort. The image was so ridiculous, but fit her in a really twisted, sick sort of way. She was the heroine who grew up poor, spied on a meeting, had magical powers infused in her hand, had to save the world, and along the way, ended up at a ball in a beautiful dress, dancing the night away with her friend who had absolutely no interest in women. 

“Whatever are you snorting about?” said Dorian, horror infusing the word “snort”, as if it were the worst thing she could have ever done. 

“Oh, just thinking about the humor of this particular situation,” she said, smirking back at him. 

“Well, at least you are finally finding something to smile about,” he quipped back. “You did look hopelessly dull before, all alone on your balcony.”

“How could I not feel better when dancing with the most handsome man in the room?” she replied. 

“I am, aren’t I. Though, to be honest it isn’t as much a competition as I would like it to be. Too many old men I should say.”

Lavellan gave another snort at his ridiculous ego, to which he raised his eyebrow, “You are one of the most self-admiring people I have ever met.”

“And you my dear, are one of the most stubborn.”

She gave him a brilliant smile, as the dance came to an end. “But I don’t think I would change us for anything,” she said, her voiced laced with both humor and conviction. 

He gave her a soft smile, one that she didn’t often get to see.

“Neither would I.” With that, he presented her his arm, which she took rather gracefully and they made their way through the crowd of people, up to their companions, watching from the gallery above.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Please review! I would love to hear what you think of these two!


	3. Broken Hearts and Broken Noses

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Here is the latest chapter. Big thanks to my beta HuntressoftheLight and please like and review!

It had been three days. That’s how long it had been since Dorian last saw Lavellan. Well, three days since he had last really seen her. She had gone off on a secret mission with Solas one night, telling only Leliana before they headed off, and when they got back, she disappeared. He knew that she was still around Skyhold. He saw her in the courtyard the previous morning buying something from Belle, and he knew she had been down to the kitchens, but she hadn't been around to see him or anyone else for that matter since she got back. 

Well, enough was enough. It wasn't like her to disappear so completely, and he wasn't about to just let it slide. He knew there was something wrong. When he had asked Solas if he had seen her, Solas simply stared at him with his eyes as judgmental as ever, and curtly responded that he had not, and if Dorian could please leave him to work now, as he was very busy. 

Dorian couldn't stand the elf. It wasn't the fact he was an elf, which is why many around Skyhold steered clear of him. Nor was it the fact that he was an apostate, which would be incredibly hypocritical coming from him, but Dorian did know that it was the reason why people like Cassandra and Vivienne didn’t care for him. No it was undoubtedly his attitude. He considered himself such an expert on everything to do with magic, and looked down on those who didn’t hold very similar beliefs. The passive aggressive lecture he had gotten about his “twisted perversion of spirits” as a necromancer had put the two at odds early on, and Dorian knew that Solas didn’t like his closeness that he shared with Lavellan. 

If Solas cared so much, then why wasn’t he more concerned about the situation at hand? It was another piece that didn’t quite fit, and Dorian was more convinced that he needed to find Lavellan. 

But where to look for her? He had already checked her usual haunts, being the tavern and her bedroom, as well as the stables. He was beginning to run out of ideas. As his eyes raised to the sky to think, his gaze ran across the courtyard tower.  
“Caught you now, little rogue,” he thought to himself. He began to stroll across the courtyard, filled with soldiers training, and towards the stone steps that led up to the tower, and hopefully Lavellan.

 

As he climbed the final ladder up to the topmost platform, he sensed immediately that Lavellan was nearby. He looked to his right, and there she was, curled into the corner, sitting on the cold stone, looking out at the mountains before them. 

She looked terrible. Her eyes were glazed over; she didn’t even notice that her solitude had been interrupted. But that wasn’t what shocked him most. As he stared down at her face, he noticed that her vallaslin was gone. Not faded, but completely vanished.

“I am rather put out with you,” he said, walking towards her, startling her out of her trance. “I have been looking all over Skyhold, and of course, you were in the last place I thought to look.”

She stared guiltily up at him, “You didn’t need to do that.”

Dorian sat down slowly next to her, wincing ever so slightly at the grime that covered the stone beneath them. 

“Well, obviously I did. Who else would play chess with me? Cullen has become insufferable after his last victory.” She gave a small smile at that, but just as quickly as it came, it vanished. 

He waited a few moments before resuming his search for answers, “I know this has something to do with that mission you snuck out on. Not the smartest decision you’ve made you know, going off on your own,” he said quietly. 

“How can you tell?” she snarled back.

He didn’t rise to the bait, “Well, you decided to pull a disappearing act since you returned. No one has seen you, not even your lover. And now, I would have to guess that it has something to do with your physical change,”

She winced at the word lover, then looked back out over the mountains that stretched out before them. She started to talk, though she seemed oddly disconnected from the words she was saying. 

“He took me out, to where the veil was thin. He told me...things I didn’t want to hear,” she said in a small voice. 

“What things?” Dorian inquired. 

“You don’t want to know.”

“Indulge me,” he said, probing her on.

She gave a large sigh, still refusing to look at him, “He told me that the Dalish had it wrong. The vallaslin were never meant to honor the Creators. They were meant to denote slavery.”

Dorian was surprised, but at the same time, he wasn’t at all. He had been there at the temple of Mythal, and the Keeper's story of the true fall of the Elven empire made him realize that most all of that history had been lost to the ages. The stories of who had caused the Elven empire to fall were incorrect, so it wasn’t a stretch to imagine that much of the remaining lore was incorrect as well. But he knew that it would have been a shock to her. She had told him of her markings before, and how she had taken the same mark that her grandmother, a famous hunter in her clan, once wore. And now it was gone. 

“He offered to take it away, to free me and I said yes. He took it away, and told me I was beautiful.”

Dorian listened to her story, wondering where the story went sour.

“Then he left me.”

Oh, that’s where. 

“What do you mean he left you?” Dorian asked, his anger growing by the second. 

“I mean he left. Said we were over and apologized from distracting me from my duty. Because that is what always matters,” she bitterly said. 

Dorian couldn’t believe the nerve of the fucking elf. He must have known what those marks meant to her, how proud she was of them. Who cares what they used to mean, what was important is what they meant now, and to her, it meant her clan and her home, a home she no longer had. More importantly, he must have known how important his opinion was to her, and how much she cared for him. Then he just threw it away, like it was rotten meat or a scrap of cloth. 

“And then what?” Dorian didn’t think he even wanted to know the answer.

“He left, and said he would see me at Skyhold.”

“So he left you in an unknown location, and you were forced to come home...alone?”

“That about sums it up.”

Dorian sat there for a moment, stunned into silence at the stupidity of the elf, and the callousness of his actions.

“You do realize that he is a piece of shit, don’t you?”

“I know. Creators know I am fully aware,” She leaned onto Dorian's shoulder, as he wrapped his arm around her, “It doesn’t mean it hurts any less.”

“I know darling,” he said softly, “Heartbreak is never easy.” So he sat with her, her head on his chest, and his arm around her shoulders, staring out at the sun that was just starting to set over the snow, causing beautiful reds and oranges to dance over the white canvas. 

As she cried her sorrow away, he knew that he would be having words with Solas as soon as he was done. 

 

Dorian stalked into the study where Solas always roamed, only just having finished stuffing Lavellan full of food and convincing her to rest. 

As he walked into the room, Solas stood from his chair to face the incoming mage. 

“I have already told you Dorian, I am rather...”

That was all he managed to get out before Dorian reared back an arm, and cracked his fist across the elf’s nose. Solas sprawled out on the floor, nose bleeding rather profusely, looking up at Dorian with a mixture of knowing and hatred. Though, whether or not that hatred was aimed at Dorian or himself, Dorian couldn’t be sure. It didn’t matter.

“I take it you know exactly why I did that, so I won’t lecture you. Just know, there are those around keeping an eye on her, and would be more than happy to put you in your place if you stick another toe out of line.”

“She wouldn’t want to have me threatened. I did what I did, and what was done is between the two of us.”

Dorian took a threatening step forward, “You have no idea what she wants. That much is abundantly clear,” he spat. He jolted his hand out, and the tingle of magic could be felt in the air. 

“What did you do to me?!” Solas demanded, as he struggled to his feet.

“Nothing you didn’t deserve,” Dorian snapped back, and with that, Dorian turned on his heel, leaving a rather shocked elf in his wake. 

 

That night, the permanent residents of Skyhold crowded into the dining room for dinner, as they did every night. Long tables had been set up in the room, and many of Lavellan’s companions were sitting along on said tables, eating and drinking away. 

Lavellan had come down after an afternoon of rest, and was socializing with the rest of her group. She was talking to Varric about a plotline in his latest thriller, when Varric went silent, staring at something behind her head. One by one, many others at the table did the same, except for Dorian, who looked like the cat who had gotten into the cream and finished the bowl. She turned around to see what the fuss was about, when she too, paused in shock. 

There was Solas, carrying a plate of food away from the table, with a huge black eye splotched across his face. 

“What happened Chuckles?” Varric said, trying and failing to hide his amusement at the elf's predicament. 

“Nothing that you should concern yourself with,” replied Solas stiffly, and with that, he walked out of the room, leaving a slightly disbelieving audience in his wake.  
“I wonder what happened,” said Cassandra, frowning slightly at the door he had just exited through. 

“I wonder why he didn’t heal himself,” Vivienne responded. 

With that, the conversation began to pick up again. 

Lavellan was puzzled at Vivienne’s remark though. She knew Solas was a talented healer, and was able to reduce the bruising and swelling of an injury; he had done it to her many times before. Her gaze was drawn to Dorian, still looking a mite too proud of himself.

“You?” she mouthed, her eyebrow raised in question. 

His response was an innocent smile that she didn’t believe for a second.

She raised her mug of ale to him, a smirk of her own growing on her face, and as he clinked his glass with hers, she felt better than she had in days.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> While I didn't ever romance Solas in the playthrough that this story is based off of, I did watch most of it online and I found his romance to be rather interesting. I especially found the scene with the vallaslin to be very heartwrenching, and while I eventually understood Solas' reasons to for leaving the Inquisitor, I also thought that my character would have been so heartbroken if this had happened to her. I wanted to play with this idea, as well as throwing a big brother character into the mix. I really hope you like it and please let me know what you think!


	4. The Problem with Dragons

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I don't own Bioware's farm, I am simply dancing in the barn. Big thanks to both my beta HuntressoftheLight, and for everyone who was given kudos and reviewed. Please keep those coming, they are so appreciated!

A dragon. Why did they have to keep finding dragons? No—the better question was why did Lavellan insist on fighting and killing every dragon they came across? Yes. That was the question of the hour and Dorian, try as he might, could not find an answer to it. The group was just supposed to be scouting the area in a final sweep before heading to the Caer Bronach and then back to Skyhold. Dorian had been looking forward to an easy run with the possibility of a few bandits, maybe a handful of demons, but no. They had to come across a Maker-damned dragon. Lavellan and Bull were almost salivating in their anticipation to fight it. And they called him the barbarian! 

“Dorian, come on!” shouted Levellan. 

Dorian looked ahead and there she was, heading down the hill ahead of everyone else, hair flying everywhere with an infectious grin plastered across her face.

“I promise if we win, I’ll get you something nice!” She yelled with a big wink in his direction. Bull was at her side, the two of them screaming and whooping as they raced through the grass towards the dragon.

Dorian gave a huge sigh of both resignation and exasperation as he unstrapped his staff, and took off down the hill after them with Solas running alongside.

“That is not exactly inspiring, dear,” he muttered to himself, though he swore he heard a chuckle from the elf behind him.

When he got into range, the two idiots were already slashing away at the beast. Lavellan seemed to be dancing around it, weaving in and out of its legs and stabbing it where she could, while Bull was hacking at every piece of flesh his blade could touch. The dragon stretched out its neck and let out an earth shattering roar that drove both Lavellan and Bull to their knees.

“Well, I suppose that's our cue,” sighed Dorian. With that, both he and Solas started to cast their spells at the creature below.

 

It was about halfway through the fight, when Dorian was healing Lavellan for the fourth time, that he changed his mind. 

“You know, if you do get me a present dear, I’d rather it be something deadly,” he told her as she started to stand. “I feel like that would be more useful, given all the perilous situations you drag me into.”

She straightened herself up, and stuck her gore covered hand out to him, which he shook with an eyebrow raised. “Deal,” she said, a grin spreading across her face once again. With that, she turned on her heel, and dashed back to the dragon to resume fighting once more.

“What are you going to get me?” he yelled at her retreating form. 

“It’s a secret!” she yelled back as she rejoined the fray, prompting Bull to start shouting both ‘Alright, boss!’ and ‘Die you son of a bitch!’—often in the same breath. Dorian almost laughed at the ridiculousness of the situation as he watched the two of them and their antics.

Dorian snapped out of it as a tail whipped dangerously close to his head, and he ducked just in the nick of time. He poured another Lyrium potion down his throat, prepping himself for a new spell destined for the dragon's eyes.

 

Ale. There was an abundance of ale, which Dorian considered a major and much needed improvement over an abundance of dragon, even if the ale was substandard. He sat off to the side of the room nursing his cup while Bull was in the center, regaling the story of their heroic defeat of the dragon to the enraptured soldiers that gathered around him. The men and women seemed to be hanging off his every word, and there were constant cries of “cheers to the dragon slayers!” He had to admit, the story did sound rather awe-inspiring, and Bull wasn’t even exaggerating that much. He could've given Varric a run for his money for his performance that night.

Dorian gulped down the rest of his ale, and was about to fetch another cup when Lavellan threw herself down onto the floor beside him. She smirked up at him from her spot on the floor, “I told you we’d survive.”

“Actually, you didn’t. I believe the exact wording you used was if’,” Dorian retorted, grabbing her cup from her hands and drinking deeply from it. He sat back in his chair with a contented sigh. 

“Did I?” she questioned, looking as if she was thinking back to their previous conversation. She shrugged. “Oh well. We did survive, and I believe I promised you a present.”  
“It’s been two hours since we got back. However did you manage to get something together already?” he asked. 

“Well, if you want to get technical, it isn’t your actual present. It’s a drawing of it.”

“A drawing...” Dorian said, skepticism coloring his voice. 

“Here you go.” She passed him a piece of paper, eyes alight with mischief.  
He looked down at the paper, and his heart skipped a beat. It was a dragon bone staff, with dragon heartstring inside to help channel his magic. He was sure that there was nothing like it currently in existence. He just continued to stare at the page, taking in all the notes the craftsman had written, when Levellan started to ramble.  
“I was hoping that this would be something you would like. I was looking through some ancient texts and it's fairly experimental, but Hamond and Dagna said that—”

“Lavellan.”

She looked up at him, rather worried at his interruption. 

“It's wonderful,” Dorian said softly. The tense lines on Levellan’s face relaxed and she gave him a shy smile. He couldn’t help but push his luck. “You should know that I would prefer not to have to use it against any more of its kin.”

That devilish smirk popped right back onto her face, “Don’t be silly Dorian. Why, I heard that there are three dragons in the Emprise du Lion. And my favorite mage will be accompanying me.” She sprung to her feet, and made her way over to the soldiers still listening to Bull, completely ignoring the look of horror that was currently plastered on Dorian's face. 

Dorian shook his head. That ridiculous woman was going to be the death of him. He looked over the schematic of his new weapon. ‘Well,’ he thought with a smile, ‘at least I will die with an amazing staff in hand.’ He drained the rest of the ale from the stolen tankard then got up to rejoin the two ruffians in their storytelling, which was growing, to his great amusement, increasingly ludicrous by the minute.


	5. Indecent Proposal

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> As always I do not own Dragon Age, I’m just playing with their toys. Also, this chapter was inspired by an awesome comic strip created by Itsmyfreakin on tumblr. You can check out all of their fantastic art of their page here. http://itsmyfreakin.tumblr.com/ and the comic strip at http://itsmyfreakin.tumblr.com/post/107312734305 I also just want to note that this is story is based off of my version of Lavellan in my playthrough, and not any other versions I have seen floating around. Thanks and I hope you enjoy!

Cullen stood at the entrance of the manor, seemingly at ease in his court finery, though his freshly shined shoe tapping every so often belayed his unease at the situation. Dorian, Varric and he waited in the foyer of the rented mansion near Halamshiral, and they had now been waiting well over forty-five minutes past the agreed meeting time. He wondered what in the name of the Maker was keeping the women. 

Vivienne and Leliana had disappeared from the group’s preparation meeting hours ago, dragging Lavellan behind them, citing that they had preparations of their own to attend to. Cullen, however, had no idea what could be taking them so long. He voiced his concerns to the other two men, stating the possibility that something malevolent had befallen the ladies. Dorian smugly smirked and rolled his eyes while Varric stared at him with a look of amusement for a few seconds before reassuring him that the other group was, in fact, fine. Cullen swore that he heard Varric whisper something that sounded oddly like “chantry boys” to Dorian, but he couldn’t be sure. 

A few moments later, Leliana and Vivienne appeared through the door, and made their way into the room to greet the others, both dressed in their finest. Leliana was dressed in a fashionable gown of Orelesian design, all baby blue and silver thread, with shoes that were higher than anything he had ever seen before. Vivienne meanwhile, stuck to a look similar to her everyday Enchanter robes, but with more expensive fabrics and ornate detailing. Cullen supposed to himself that was one way to stand out in the crowd. 

While Cullen was busy mentally cataloguing places where the women could store weapons in their gowns, he missed the entrance of his final companion. 

“Well, how do I look?” came a cheerful voice from in front of him. 

Cullen raised his gaze to the woman in front of him, and he could feel the heat immediately rush to his face. She looked stunning, though like nothing he had ever seen before. Her arms were covered in a thin, transparent fabric, and fluttered around her body with the slightest provocation. This cloth was then disappeared down into the bodice, which seemed to be made almost entirely of gold, with shapes and creatures detailed and cut out of the metal. There were Dalish symbols swirling around her breasts, and cut-outs of halls seemed to be dancing along her hips. The skirt of her dress came from underneath the metal plating, and flared out to sweep dramatically against the floor, the dark green hue matching the valaslin on her face perfectly. He knew such a dress would not be considered fashionable by Orelesian standards, but it made a statement that no one else at that ball would be able to come close to. Despite his very positive opinions on the matter, Cullen found himself rather unable to answer her question. 

“Um, well...” he managed to stutter out, “That is...uh...”

“My darling Inquisitor, you look absolutely ravishing tonight!” Dorian’s voice cut through the awkwardness. Cullen turned, his face still covered by the embarrassment at his own inability to speak, to the well spoken mage beside him. Thank the Maker for a good distraction. 

“Looking pretty damn good, Inquisitor,” Varric chimed in from behind.

“Though,” Dorian said, sidling up to the Inquisitor’s side, and wrapping an arm around her. He turned Levellan and himself to face Cullen directly. “I do believe that dress would look even better in a ball on Cullen’s floor.”

Cullen could not believe what he was hearing. 

“Did you just... proposition the Inquisitor on my behalf?” asked Cullen, his own voice seeming rather far away and disconnected from his body. 

“Well, you seem to be incapable of doing so yourself,” said Dorian in a matter of fact voice, his eyebrow quirked at Cullen’s question. Cullen was struggling to come back with any sort of response, when beautiful, full belly laughter cut through his inner confusion. 

“You two are simply ridiculous,” Levellan managed to get out between fits of laughter. With that, she turned to Dorian and gave him a kiss on the cheek. She perched on her tiptoes and whispered something in his ear, and with a final wink, she made her way over to Cullen. “I will be seeing you later,” she whispered into Cullen’s ear. As their eyes met and sealed that promise, she brushed her lips slowly against his, meeting for only a moment before she pulled away. With a final smirk at the both men, she turned on her heel and made her way out of the house.

“You realize you now owe me, Inquisitor?!” Dorian cried at her retreating form. 

“You’ll get what you want Dorian, no need to worry,” she yelled from the carriage she was entering. “Now all of you hurry up, we can’t be too fashionably late!”

Lelianna, still giggling into her hand over the whole incident raced out as gracefully as she could to meet Lavellan. Vivienne raised her eyes at the dramatics of it all and their carriage took off, leaving the men to travel together. 

Cullen still stood on the threshold of the house, looking out at the street that Lavellan had just disappeared down. His hand still lingered on his lips. “Maker’s breath,” he sighed, replaying the moment again and again in his head. 

“You’re welcome” said Dorian, looking entirely too much like the cat who swallowed the cream. 

Cullen sighed. He guessed, in a very odd and embarrassing way, he was indebted to Dorian, despite the crass execution. He steadied himself, and as they all walked together out to the carriage that waited for them, the conversation played over again in his mind.

“By the way Dorian, what exactly does the Inquisitor owe you?” Cullen inquired. 

Dorian eyes lit up with mischief, immediately putting Cullen on edge. “Just a story,” Dorian said, so nonchalantly that even Varric raised an eyebrow. 

“What type of story?” asked Cullen, half afraid of the answer that was coming. 

“I’m sure that you’ll know what it is when it happens,” Dorian said with a wink. As Varric snorted with laughter–and Cullen reddened with further embarrassment–the carriage took off towards the palace and the woman who seemed to be the center in all of their lives.


	6. The Demons We Leave Behind

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Just as a warning, this chapter is not child friendly, and does contain some descriptions of a graphic and violent nature, as well as cursing. If these things make you uncomfortable, I would suggest skipping this chapter.

“Don’t leave it like this Dorian, you’ll never forgive yourself.”

Lavellan looked up at the man beside her, whose knuckles were turning white due to his overly firm grip on the table. She said the words that she knew just by looking at him he didn’t want to hear, but she believed that he needed to. He stared right at her for just a moment, eyes flickering as the words he wanted to say flashed through his mind before she caught the tiny nod in her direction. He violently pushed himself away from the table, and towards the man who he once revered. 

“Tell me why you came”, Dorian demanded, his words snapping harshly through the air. 

“If I knew I would drive you to the Inquisition...” his father replied, his voice trailing off while his eyes strayed to the elf standing ramrod straight by the fire. His gaze made it very clear what he thought of the woman and her cause that stood behind his son.

“You didn’t” Dorian cried, the exasperation and hurt cracking his words as he cut his father off. She could see his head shake in what she presumed was disgust. “I joined because it was the right thing to do. Once I had a father who would have known that.”

“Once I had a son who would have trusted me. A trust I betrayed. I only wanted to talk to him. To hear his voice again. To ask him to forgive me.”

An awkward pause settled over the room, making the tension that was already thick even more palpable and heavy.

“I’ll be outside” Lavellan said softly, brushing a hand across Dorian’s arm in reassurance, and with a final glare at the magister on the other side of the room, she walked out of the tavern, and towards the tree that stood outside.

She leaned against the dark bark, the wind blowing hard through the leaves. Her head thumped hard against the tree, eyes closed and face lifted to the darkened sky. All signs pointed to an oncoming storm.

It was going to be a very long ride back to Skyhold.

 

There were times when Lavellan hated that she was right, and this was definitely one of those times. It had been a very long, uncomfortable ride back to Skyhold. Varric had tried valiantly to break the silence with some jokes and a story or two, but between the barren silences from Dorian, the glares from Cassandra, and the halfhearted responses from herself, he too became silent rather quickly.

Once they had ridden through the gates of the hold, Dorian urged his horse towards the stables, leaving the rest of the group staring mutely at his back. Before Lavellan could get her hart to follow, Dorian had already jumped off his horse, leaving it with the stable hands. As soon as his feet hit the ground, he turned on his heel, robes billowing behind him in his haste as he went. Lavellan sighed to herself as he went up the stairs into the kitchens, obviously wanting to sneak off to his self-proclaimed nook in the library and avoid the  
mess of people in the main hall. After settling her horse with Denett, she took off after him.

As she climbed up the final steps into the library, she could see he was already settled at the window, staring out into the distance, eyes glazed over.

“He said we’re alike, too much pride. Once I would have been overjoyed to hear that. Now I know I’m not”, he said, almost quiet enough to be to himself, with a tone as bitter as the winds that whistled through the keep.

“Are you alright?” she asked softly, walking up and placing a hand on his shoulder, though she already knew the answer that was to follow.

“Not really” he replied, still staring out the window

She stared up at his face, taking in pained expressions “He tried...to change you?” she asked.

Dorian’s eyes roared to life at her question, and for a moment, she could have sworn she had never seen a shemlen more angry, though deep down, she knew it wasn’t directed at her, but rather at the flesh and blood who hurt him so bad. 

“You won’t let this go until you know the whole story, will you?” he asked, his eyes turning away from her, and his voice sounding just as harsh and short as the ravens caws that come from above them.

Lavellan reached out with dirt stained fingers, and touched his cheek, turning his face down towards her. His dark brown eyes met hers, and she could see the anger and the watery pain that hid behind it.

“You know I would never force you to tell me anything” she said softly, fingers still resting softly on his cheek. They stood silent for a moment, frozen in a tableau, until he sighed, took her hand in his own much larger one, and gave it a squeeze.

“I will tell you, but not here” he said softly. With that, he strode away from her and toward his room, leaving her to trail behind him, almost jogging trying to keep up with his ridiculously long human strides.

She followed him down the stairs and past Solas working on his mural. They turned the corner past the kitchens to one of the many hallways that housed various Inquisition  
members. He pulled a key from a pocket in his robes, and opened the first door on the left. With a smirk that didn’t quite reach his eyes, he gestured to her to enter.

As she stepped inside, she was immediately hit by how...austere... the room was. There was very little in way of decoration or adornment: just a bed and wardrobe, a small wooden table with a pile of books, and two chairs. There was nothing of Dorian in this room, no character or personality. It could have been the room of anyone just passing through. She wondered for a moment why he hadn’t decorated in any way, but with a sinking feeling, she realized that maybe he didn’t want any place to feel like home after what had happened back in Tevinter.

Dorian closed the door behind himself as he entered behind her, and strode over to the wardrobe. He rummaged around momentarily, and suddenly pulled out a half finished bottle of alcohol–an expensive bottle, by the looks of it. She peered around him and saw the bottom of the closet was covered in bottles of all shapes and sizes. She raised her eyebrow at him, her question not needing to be spoken aloud.

“The finest Marana’s Pell scotch” he said with a smirk, his eyes lighting up with mischief. “I have a tendency to buy every bottle of liquor that passes me by from the homeland and hide it away for a personal use”.

Lavellan watched Dorian’s eyes cloud over once again, awash in a faraway pain. 

“One never knows when one might need to forget the world around them” he said, looking right through her as he was drawn into his own haunted memories. Lavellan reached out and placed her hand on his arm. She shook him gently and he started, blinking wildly for a moment, before flashing her the smallest of smiles and fetching the glasses that were hidden behind the books. He poured them both a generous amount and gestured to her to sit in the small chair across from his.

They sat in silence for a moment; he seemingly lost in his own thoughts while she studied his expression carefully. A moment turned into several, and Lavellan began to lose herself as well, thinking of what happened just a few days earlier and how much the man before her seemed to have changed.

He began out of nowhere, making her jump from her thoughts of the past to the present. “I always knew we were different from other Minrathos families” he started, taking a very large sip from his glass. “I never thought my father would resort to the measure he chose to employ, because he had raised me to be different.” His voice turned sour. “But it turns out he was just like the rest of them.”

“How so?” asked Lavellan.

“Well, there was the fact that we treated our slaves differently,” Dorian responded. “We had slaves of course, because that is what is done in Tevinter, but ours were relatively well taken care of. They were punished for misdeeds, but usually the Denantus would dole out any punishment, usually in the form of... extra chores... rather than corporal punishment.”

Lavellan knew her face was pursed in confusion, and Dorian quickly caught on.

“Demantus was a sporati: a member of the class of people who are unable to do magic, but who aren’t slaves. He was hired by my family to be in charge of the slaves. My father was too busy prostrating himself before the Archon to ‘raise the family name’ to run a household, and my mother often said that dealing with those of a lower class gave her the most horrid rash.” He gave a wide smirk in remembrance, pausing for a moment before continuing, “So Demantus was left in charge, and from what I remember he treated them well. They never had the scars on them like slaves from other houses did. If you walked into most magisters’ homes, the slaves would be covered in welts and marks. Some were from blood magic, though usually if a magister used blood magic, he would just kill the slave. No–most slaves would have lashings on their back and arms, and sometimes burns... ours never had either. I think I had heard once that Demantus’ family almost sold him into slavery to pay off their debts, but avoided it due to some inheritance. I think the idea of being a slave scared him in its own way, and he made it a point to be kind to those he could have been.” Dorian took down the rest of his drink with on long, slow swallow. “There was one time, when I was young and my father was away for the night at a magister named Denarius’ mansion, and he told my mother and I the next day about the horrific experiments Denarius was performing on his slaves. He had a viewing party to watch as he branded lyrium directly into one slave’s skin just to prove he could. Father was so disgusted. I recall him saying something along the lines of ‘if he truly wanted to show how powerful he was, he should have branded himself, to show he is more than human.’” Dorian sighed heavily, and refilled his glass, tipping more than a generous amount of the amber liquid into the crystal. “He was different, my father. Not as simpering and spineless as the rest of them. I never knew him well, nor did he make any real effort to spend time with me, other than to make sure I, his only son and heir, was up to standard. But I respected him. One such reason was that he abhorred blood magic. From the moment I first conjured a flame in my hand, he taught me that blood magic was for weaker men–men who weren’t smart or capable enough to manage on their own.”

Lavellan watched him drown a few more sips, his eyes fluttering with each swallow.

“He never allowed my tutors to discuss blood magic. So many mages in minrathos practice it, and he refused to allow me to be taught by anyone who might encourage the practice. He fired more than a few tutors because they insinuated that I may become stronger by using such magics.” Dorian paused for a long while, staring off into nothing. 

“What a fucking hypocrite.”

“How...?” asked Lavellan, though she had a sinking feeling she knew exactly what was coming.

“I was to wed,” said Dorian, eyes glassy and hard from the alcohol and the anger. “They had it all arranged. I had been apprenticing under Alexius for four years, and was nearing my thirties. So while I was still at Alexius’ home, they met with the Talerio family and came to the decision that I was to marry their eldest daughter. When I came home for Satinalia, they held an elaborate banquet and decided that that was the perfect moment to tell me that my future had all been planned out. Three hundred people watched as my parents informed me that I was to be a husband, and that life as I knew it was subsequently over. Then they introduced me to my bride to be. Her name was Delphine, and she was a talented mage, stunning, beautiful–and from the moment I laid eyes on her I utterly loathed her.”

“Was it just because she was a woman?” Lavellan inquired.

“No, it wasn’t,” Dorian said softly, “It was more than that. It was partially because she was a sour bitch with a stick rammed so high up her backside it sticks out of her nose and I wanted nothing to do with her. It was that my family was forcing me into a marriage they knew I was destined to be miserable in. It was that I would have to hide who I really am for the rest of my life. I found that to be...” Dorian paused, breathing in heavily, eyes hardening as he said, “I found that intolerable, and I told them I was not going to play the part of the perfect son any longer. They knew though, Lavellan. My parents always knew that I did not prefer the company of women. I had always been a rather vocal person, if you can imagine, and I told them of my preferences rather early in life. They disagreed with it, of course. My mother kept saying that it was just a phase and that I would eventually grow out of it. My father meanwhile would often look darkly on me and say that it was fine if kept in the shadows, and I put my duty before any petty sexual desires.” Dorian scoffed. “They said this all while knowing I had a lover in the house–one of the slaves who I had known since birth. He name was Talid. We were actually very good friends during my youth, as he was often assigned to entertain me. As we grew older, our interactions become one of a more sexual nature. Whenever I came back to the house, we would spend most nights together. My parents knew about it almost immediately, but ignored it. I suppose they thought it was better because at least I was just fucking a slave, and not someone who really mattered. But it did matter, and he mattered.”

“Mattered...or matters?” asked Lavellan, though she already had a fairly good idea of which it was.

“Mattered, and it is all my fault,” Dorian whispered.

“What happened?”

Dorian stared right into her eyes, and Lavellan could feel the hairs on her neck stand up.

“They decided to change me” Dorian bit out

“What did they do?” she asked, not wanting any pity to shine through her gaze.

“After I told them I no longer wished to be their political pawn, I went back to Alexius to study and avoided any interaction with my parents. But after several letters from my mother, begging me in her own distant way to come back, I agreed to come for another one of their balls.”

He looked into his glass, swirling the contents around, and gave a large sigh. “I had no chance to seek out Talid, as I arrived fashionably late so I couldn’t be hounded by the father at first sight. But all the slaves knew I was back and I expected that he would come seek me out that night, so I waited. But hours passed, and he still hadn’t showed, so I ventured down to the slave quarters to find him.”

“I expected him to be in his room, but when I went inside he wasn’t alone. Rather, he was there, bound and gagged and lifeless with two other slaves on the floor. And there was my father, and my want-to-be father in law Magistar Talerio standing in the corner, daggers dripping in both their hands.”

Dorian stood up and began frantically pacing around his small room, while Lavellan sat in horror, hands tightly gripping the glass, trying to ground herself in the sensation.

"My father cut off their genitals, sliced off their balls, then carved runes into their flesh and bled them dry. There was blood everywhere; the floor was slick with it and the whole room reeked of the Fade and of the death. He mutilated those poor men, one of my closest friends all to force me to follow the path that he deemed best.”

Dorian stopped in the middle of the room, tears falling freely from his eyes. “I threw a fireball across the room and stopped them from completely the ritual. I remember my father looking furious, trying to seek out who exactly stopped their spell, and his own look of horror when he realized it was me. One of the men, he was new to the house, was still alive, and I sliced his bonds, shot what little healing magic I knew at him, and then...” Dorian looked off, shame emanating from his features, and Lavellan could see the hatred of himself in the lines on his face. “And then I ran. I put barriers up behind me, gather some clothes, a few books, and money, and I ran from my home, and from Minrathos. While on the road, I researched the ritual he used. It gave me something to do while on the road to this charmingly rustic land you call home. His ritual may have worked; the theory behind the magic was sound, but extremely experimental. It could have successfully put me under his thrall, but it also could have left me a drooling vegetable.”

Dorian’s voice cracked with emotion. “He would have rather had a brain dead son, than one that wanted the freedom to choose who and what he wanted for himself.” With that final statement, Dorian collapsed onto his bed, holding his head in his hands.

Lavellan rose in one fluid motion, and knelt on the floor in front of him. She slowly pried his hands from his face, and held them tight in her own.

“You will never be the man he wanted you to be” she said, her voice tight. “And that makes all difference. You are better than anything he could dream up for you, and you deserve to live the way you choose. You are here, and can make whatever decision, good or terrible, all for yourself.”

Dorian gave her a small smile. “Thank you” he said softly, and they sat there for a moment, hands entwined, simply enjoying the others presence and peace for another moment.  
Eventually, he hauled her up next to him on the bed and put his large human arm around her slight shoulders.

“It is a good thing the ritual failed. I wouldn’t be the person I am not, and I rather like this Dorian.” His tone was teasing, and she could tell his spirits were lifting.

“You are not the only one” she said back, smiling up at him.

“At any rate, I think it is appropriate to get even more spectacularly drunk, wouldn’t you agree?” he asked.

“I do, though I will say that I think we should leave the expensive, depressing, imported liquor for another time. Maybe something cheaper?”

“Well I do have an obscene fondness for Ferelden beer” Dorian said, looking both horrified at his own admission, and excited at the prospect of drinking his guiltily pleasure.

“The Heralds Rest it is!” cried Lavellan.

“After you, my darling Inquisitor” Dorian stuck out his arm, and off they went to round up Bull, Varric, and possibly Sera, and drown out their sorrows in cheap beer, and the company of those who, if only for a while, could help to chase the demons away.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I have always wondered the specifics of what happened to Dorian in Tevinter. It is hinted at in the game, but I would have loved the gory details, so I just made some up myself. Hope you liked this, and please let me know what you think! Kudos and reviews are fantastic, and thanks so much to those who have done so already :) Also, if anyone has any suggestions for future chapters, I would love to hear them!


	7. Homecoming

“It’s the Inquisitor. Open the gates!”

Lavellan felt her lips quirk up into a smile for what she felt was the first time in weeks as the guards on the wall scrambled to draw the gates for their party. The gates should have been open upon her arrival, but she knew that they didn’t exactly look the part at the moment. She didn’t look like the blessed Herald of Andraste, leader of the Inquisition and her friends looked nothing like the honorable, faithful companions who helped her right the evils that reigned chaos across Thedas. She imagined they all looked rather pathetic right now in their dirt crusted armor and downtrodden mounts. Cassandra was sporting a thick bandage on her arm from where she was horribly bitten by a living corpse. Varric looked downright miserable on the pony he was forced to travel on, and she could have sworn his chest hair was droopier than usual. And Solas, well he looked more like a hobo apostate that he had ever before. She had a feeling that even her horse was depressed after the shitshow that was Crestwood. Her time there had not been a pleasant one to say the least, and if she saw any more damnable corpses that could walk and fight on their own, it would be much too soon. 

As the portcullis lifted up, the sounds of Skyhold came at her like a rush. The low drone of the wounded echoed through the courtyard, but it was layered and masked by the merchants plying their goods to anyone who would listen, the clanking of swords as recruits practiced their drills, and the shouts and laughs of the masses wandering about their business. She smiled. There was no place like home, and this felt more a home to her than the creaking wheels of an araval ever did. 

As they made their way inside the courtyard, the people parted as if forced by magic, letting them through while bowing and curtsying. She heard shouts of “Welcome back Inquisitor!” and “Maker bless you Herald!” ring out from all sides of the courtyard. She smiled at the attention, trying to sit up a little straighter on her horse. She knew that the reason so many were here were because of the stories they had heard of her. Mother Giselle and Josephine always told her that stories had power, and the stories of her spoke of a woman blessed by the Maker and able to right the wrongs of the world. The least she could do was be friendly and open to those who made the Inquisition more than rebel Chantry sisters, mercenaries for hire, and a handful of apostates, so she smiled softly at the crowd as the group made their way towards the stable. 

She was just dismounting her horse and handing the reigns to the stable boy when a familiar voice rang out from behind her. 

“Well, look who finally managed to drag herself home.” She looked behind her with a huge smile growing on her face. 

“Dorian!” she cried, forcing her sore legs to cooperate. She ran over and tackled the poor man as he climbed down the final stair from the kitchens.   
He caught her easily, letting out a small “umph” when she threw herself onto his chest. He hugged her tight before softly putting her down, his customary smirk already settled on his face as he faced her. 

“You do realize that that was completely barbaric of you. Rules of decorum my dear, you should consider learning them. “

She simply smiled even bigger and quirked an eyebrow at him. “Why bother when you and Vivienne have so much fun correcting me? I would hate to deprive you both of that joy.”

He looked down at her, fake shock written all over his features. “I do believe my witty nature has finally rubbed off on you. It is simply a miracle.”

She snorted in response. 

“Or not,” he said with an exaggerated sigh of disappointment. “I see you prefer to mimic the horses you so love rather than use your words like a civilized person.”

She elbowed him in the side before leaning into him. His arm wrapped around her shoulders, and hers wound around his waist, they just stood there silent for a few moments in the shade watching the rest of her companions unload the horses. She could see that a few of the others had made their way into the courtyard to welcome them back. She sighed with exhaustion as she leaned more heavily on Dorian. 

“We were getting worried,” Dorian said from above her, his voice softer than she had heard it in a while. “We kept getting reports, but there was little news of you.”

“I know,” she said, apology heavy in her voice. “There just wasn’t any time. Between the corpses and saving the town…”

“Well, you need to learn to make time. People here worry about you.”

She squeezed his waist tightly before letting go. “I’m sorry,” she said quietly. 

They stood there in a companionable silence for another few moments before Dorian pulled away slightly, causing her to look up at him. The beginnings of a smirk grew on his face as he caught her gaze. “I do so dislike most people. I do not want to go through the process of finding a new friend. It can be so tiresome and trying. ”

She couldn’t help it. She snorted again then laughed even harder at the appalled look on his face. 

“You are utterly ridiculous,” she said, still giggling away. 

“I fear we have differing views on what is ridiculous, my dear,” he sniffed, arms crossed as he looked down at her with an eyebrow raised. 

She smirked up at him when suddenly her stomach gave the largest growl she had ever heard. She looked in shock down at her stomach as Dorian gave a chuckle.   
“How positively uncouth,” he said, smirking away as she continued to look at her stomach, “though in all seriousness, when is the last time you ate?”

“Umm, I think it was last night,” she said, wracking her brains to try and remember when the last time she had to suffer through a bowl of Cassandra’s porridge was. 

“Of course it was,” he replied with a sigh, “how about we get some food for you, and then we can head to the library. I have been chest high in books since you left and I think I finally managed to find a tome referring to Corypheus.”

“That’s amazing! Where did you find it?” 

With that, the two of them made their way up the stairs towards the kitchens, heads pressed together talking a mile a minute plotting the next step they could take against Corypheus. They were completely unaware with the three sets of eyes watching them ascend the stairs. 

********************

Cullen and Bull stood just off to the side of the stables. They had been teaching the new recruits together, Bull having finally been convinced that his experience would in fact be helpful. They had been going over ways to counter Red Templar attacks in the courtyard when the Inquisitor and her group had come through the gates. They had heard very little from the Inquisitor during her time away, and were beginning to worry when they received a raven stating that she would be returning later that day. The recruits had been losing concentration for the last hour of their training, and seeing the Inquisitor return only served to make them lose it entirely. So the pair dismissed them instead, and made their way through the crowd to visit the returning group themselves.

Cullen was nearing the stables when he saw her dismount her horse more gracefully than any woman he had ever known. He smiled softly as she handed the reins to the stable boy then began to pat her horse gently. He admired the way she was with animals, especially the mounts. They always seemed so calm around her, and he would often find her in the stables brushing the horses and humming softly to them. Her yell jolted him from his daydream, and he reached instinctively for his sword when he realized that she was in fact running towards Dorian. 

He watched her leap at the man, who proceeded to hug her fiercely before setting her down on the ground. He looked on in jealousy as she poked Dorian in the side and proceeded to lean herself against him. Cullen could tell she was exhausted; it radiated from every muscle in her body and he had never seen herself to be so vulnerable with anyone before. 

He felt a hand clasp his shoulder. He looked up at Bull, who was watching the two friends across the courtyard as well. Bull smiled down at him, with a surprisingly understanding look in his eyes. 

“I just…” Cullen started to say, wanting to explain himself. He struggled with his words for a moment, when he simply sighed at himself, a small smile mixed with yearning creeping up on his face. “I just hope that someday she will trust me that much.”

“I get that,” said Bull, something flashing in his eyes before he pulled his hand away and began to walk towards the stables, probably to cajole Varric into joining him for a midday drink. Cullen stopped, confused by Bulls words. But he saw the looks Bull shot towards the pair across the yard, and realized he wasn’t the only one who struggled with unrequited feelings. As he watched the pair walk towards the kitchens together, he shook himself out of his thoughts. There was work that needed to be done, and he had to keep his head about him. In fact, he needed to have a serious discussion with Cassandra about just that. So he pushed his feelings down, and made his way over to the Seeker, ready to have a discussion that was long overdue. 

********************

Solas watched from the inside of the stables where he stood wiping down his horse. The young boy had tried to insist that he could do it instead, but Solas refused. He had ridden the animal, used it for its gifts and now he would care for it once he was finished. So he stood, brush in hand and hidden in plain sight from prying eyes, watching his vehnan laugh and lean on the Tevinter mage. 

No. He mentally cursed himself for his slip. She was not his vehnan and she could never be. He couldn’t allow it. He had a mission to complete, one that could not be hindered by emotional entanglements. He was here to regain his orb and help the People, and he couldn’t stray from that path. He had made a mess of things before, it was time to put things right. 

He could keep telling himself that, remind himself of his goals and plans to fix the world he shattered, but whenever he saw her eyes light up with happiness because of him, a wave of jealousy crashed through his mind. He wanted to be the one to make her smile with joy, something he saw her do less and less as time went on. He feared that all too soon the light inside her would flicker out completely with the pressures of command so heavily tied to her slender shoulders. He knew better than anyone that power has a   
twisted way of changing people…

He looked over at them again, and saw that the human had an arm around her shoulders, and hers was wound around his waist. His eyes narrowed in anger at another touching her that way, even if he knew it was platonic. He shook his head at the absurdity of his feelings. How he yearned to be the one she leaned on, like she leaned on Dorian, even though he knew the futility of such feelings. She was never so open with him; she was often curious, as he had knowledge that she could never access, and argumentative when they disagreed, but she never let herself go with him the way she was letting go right at this moment. He yearned for her to open up to him, let him into her soul, and her mind…

He was so caught up in his thoughts he almost missed them leaving. They seemed to be in the midst of an important conversation as they headed up the stairs towards the kitchen. His eyes never left her form as she walked up the stairs, head turned towards Dorian. He watched her vallaslin move upon her skin as she nodded and frowned at something Dorian had said. He continued brushing, and if anyone were to look at him, they would never guess his inner turmoil. 

He refused to act on his feelings. There were more important things to focus his attentions on. The books in his study called to him, and he knew that as soon as his horse was cared for, he would pour himself into his research. Corypheus needed to be defeated, and the orb would once again be his. That is all that mattered. But still… The hold he had on his mind slipped and for a moment he was flooded with the image of holding her close, her unmarred face smiling up at him, his lips meeting hers under the stars. 

No. He could not afford any distractions, no matter how beautiful or fiery they may be. As they climbed the last stair and disappeared through the door, his heart panged for a moment, then returned to normal. He sighed aloud, and then continued to brush the horse, trying to lose himself in the repetitive task and drown out all further thoughts of her.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> First of all, I wanted to give some credit and applause to Boa Illustration. Their artwork inspired this chapter. You can see it on post/114176228930/because-sometimes-friendships-are-more-important Secondly I wanted to say thank you very much to everyone who has reviewed and or given kudos to this story. I appreciate it more than I can say, and if you could, please let me know what you thought of this chapter :)


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